


You Tend to do That to Me

by Evilpixie



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Brief mention of Tim/Kon, Dating, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilpixie/pseuds/Evilpixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce 'wows' Clark. Clark returns the favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Tend to do That to Me

Bruce collapsed down on top of him; slick with sweat, come, and saliva shining seductively along the swell of full lips. His hair was matted to his brow, scars shone silver in the moonlight, and muscles rolled and relaxed in sync with a deep, satisfied, growl.

 

Clark wrapped his arms around him, around this impossibly gorgeous creature, around _Batman_ , and tenderly kissed a series of rapidly bruising bite marks he’d left on the other man’s neck. “God, you have no idea how brilliant you are.” He sucked on his skin where shoulder joins neck. “I’m just…” another long taste, “wow.”

 

“Hmmm,” Bruce practically purred and moved in his arms; the action sliding their spent cocks against one another. “Wow?” Bruce echoed, his voice a beautiful low baritone. “Did I ‘wow’ you, Kent?”

 

“Yeah,” he horsed and swallowed. “You tend to do that to me.”

 

Tongue slid slowly along the edge of teeth. “Good.”

 

Bruce’s eyes were gaping in the darkness, the silvery blue reduced to a pale rim around two cavernous – carnivorous – pits that pinned on him with predatory intent; precise, powerful, and explicitly perverse in their intimate familiarity. Because this was _Bruce._ The man he had known for years, the black clad vigilante… Batman. It had been months since he finally found the courage to step into the other man’s personal space and refuse to pretend it was a mistake; to look him in the eye and tell him how much he wanted him, wanted to be taken by him. But even after months of this it still felt like some impossible dream.

 

Even after months he was afraid he would wake up and it would all be gone.

 

Because Bruce was more than he had ever imagined.

 

Just seeing him when he was aroused – knowing that he was the one to do that to Bruce – was enough to undo him. Just feeling the way Bruce’s body would tense, shudder, and finally let go when he orgasmed was enough to make him wish he had the courage to step forward one more time and say, once again, that he wanted more. Say the three words that danced unspoken on the back of his tongue.

 

But he could wait for that.

 

“It’s midnight,” Clark said and dropped his arms.

 

Bruce sat up, his hips still positioned between Clark’s legs, and looked at him. There was something in that look, something Clark couldn’t quite understand.

 

He shifted uncomfortably on the sleek bedding. “Do I need to leave now?”

 

Bruce frowned. “You don’t need to do anything, Clark.”

 

“I know I just… I won’t hold you up anymore.”

 

He jerked and shuddered as Bruce’s hand slid down the length of his shaft and squeezed him; calloused fingers constricting slightly too roughly around his base. Low. “You don’t need to leave.”

 

“But…” His stomach clenched and twisted into a messy knot. “I… you’re going out on patrol and I should… I should go,” he stumbled hopelessly through the sentence.

 

Bruce watched him with a strange, chilling, intensity as he tugged on his rapidly re-hardening cock. “If I leave, will you be here when I come back?” A pause. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

 

“I…” Clark felt his heart stutter. “If I stay will you let me take you out to dinner next week?”

 

Bruce stiffened.

 

“Unless t-that’s not okay. I mean, if that’s not what we’re doing here then…”

 

It was a routine that was running into well worn ruts. Bruce would finish work, have dinner with his family, have sex with him, and then disappear behind the lead lined cowl. It wasn’t every night, it wasn’t even every week, but whenever he heard those two words – ‘be here’ – spoken in the other man’s growly bass he came… in more ways than one.

 

And after the sex he would leave. It was part of the pattern, part of the routine, and it was an essential part. Because, despite the way Bruce would look at him, despite what he would do to him, Clark didn’t want to read anything into the other man’s actions. He didn’t want to imagine anything between them when Bruce was still in the afterglow. He didn’t want to say anything, or have anything said to him, that could be later written off as a slip of the tongue in the heat of the moment. But if Bruce _wanted_ him to stay… then perhaps…

 

“You want to take me out for dinner,” Bruce said, voice unreadable.

 

“If you want too,” Clark added lamely. “But if you don’t that’s fine too. It’s up to you.”

 

The other man frowned and his grip on his cock lessened.

 

“Hey,” he desperately tried to reel back the conversation. “It’s okay. I’ll be here, we can just do this. That’s fine.”

 

“You want to try,” Bruce fished for a word, “ _us_.” He settled on. “You and me. But I’m not just me, Clark.”

 

Hopelessly. “If you don’t want…”

 

“I have a family. Kids. I can’t just…” he turned away and swore.

 

“I’m sorry,” Clark said. “Forget I said anything.”

 

Bruce moved from between his legs and stepped off the side of the massive bed. Even like this, turning away from him, he was beautiful; powerfully built but also lean and lithe like a great predatory cat.

 

“Bruce…”

 

“If,” Bruce interrupted him. “If I say yes, if you take me out to dinner, what happens after that?”

 

An elongated silence.

 

“Whatever you want,” Clark said softly and slowly sat up.

 

“What about what you want?” Bruce challenged.

 

“I want you to be ha—”

 

“No,” the other man said quickly. “What do _you_ want, Clark, for you?”

 

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He couldn’t, in the time he was given, think up the assembly of words that would satisfy the other man. That would give Bruce the time, the space, that he had promised himself he would give him. Because, even armed with all the superpowers of his alien DNA he still wasn’t a match for Bruce Wayne.

 

Bruce sighed, picked up his discarded clothes, and threw them on. “I’m going on patrol,” he said.

 

“Okay,” Clark mumbled. “Should I…?”

 

Bruce disappeared out the door without a backwards glance.

 

Less than half and hour later he heard the distinctive twofold sound of the batmobile’s engines; a familiar throaty roar coupled with the mechanical whine of supercharged electrical boosters. As that sound lost itself in the thick of the city beyond the high rise Clark felt his resolve begin to flake away.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered and ran his fingers through his hair. “ _Fuck_.”

 

He bolted off the bed, pulled on the primary blue and red of his uniform, and flew out the window fast enough to rip a cloud in two. Nothing in Bruce’s swift departure invited him to stay and he didn’t want to push the other man any further. Not when he clearly had already just pushed him too far too fast.

 

“You fucking _idiot_ , Kent.”

 

He flew back to his apartment, showered, and lay in bed until it was time to go to work. Perry was in an abnormally good mood that day and everyone in the office was springing between computers discussing the mismatch of articles up for the late night edition. Lois settled herself on the corner of his desk, kicked off her shoes, and chatted happily to herself as she flicked through the photos on Jimmy’s camera.

 

Everything felt stiff, grey, and fragile; as if the whole world was some cheerily morbid movie set on the brink of collapse. Wrong. Wrong in a way he couldn’t name but was explicitly obvious whenever he opened his eyes.

 

All because he had no idea if he had ruined everything last night; if he had moved too fast and knocked aside some fundamentally important pillar of support before it had a chance to set.

 

He knew he couldn’t rush Bruce. He couldn’t mess up something as perfect as this just by not giving the man enough space and time to make the decision himself. He _knew_ Bruce and he knew Bruce needed that distance. Bruce needed to configure, calculate, and construct contingencies before he could comfortably take the next step forward. Or decide it was safer not to proceed at all.

 

He knew that and yet he had ploughed forward anyway.

 

“Smallville.”

 

He looked up.

 

Lois’s lip curled as their eyes met. “And…?”

 

He blinked. “What?”

 

“I asked you a question.”

 

Shocked. “You did?”

 

A low laugh. “For someone with super hearing you sure do miss a lot.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Okay, what is it?”

 

He fidgeted. “What?”

 

She gestured towards him. “This… all this. What’s got you so upset?” A hard look. “Did Perry push you off a story?”

 

“No, nothing like that.”

 

“Ah-huh, but there is _something_.”

 

He sighed. “There is something,” he confirmed. “But it’s not something I want to talk about.”

 

A pause. “Okay,” the woman ceded. “I can respect that. But, you still have to answer my question.” She put the camera down in the desk beside her. “Jimmy, Cat, and I are going out for dinner. Cat’s stalking the Mayor’s wife again and wants company. Company _not_ Steve.” She nudged him. “Tonight, eight o’clock, the big new Turkish restaurant downtown with the fancy sign?”

 

He groaned. “The only reason Jimmy is going is because that’s right beside the pancake place.”

 

She lifted an eyebrow. “What’s with the judgement? That’s also the only reason _I’m_ going. Jimmy and I happen to share the opinion that pancakes for dessert is a damn fine reason to go somewhere.” She leant forward. “And, it’s the only reason why you’re going to tag along, isn’t it?”

 

Reluctantly. “I don’t know.”

 

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

 

“I don’t know,” he said again. “I don’t think I’m in the mood.”

 

A pause. “Clark Kent not in the mood for pancakes? Now I know you’re not okay.”

 

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face. “I’m just feeling like an idiot is all.”

 

“Then come out with us! One look at me drunk and you’ll feel like Einstein, trust me.”

 

Surprised. “You’re planning on getting drunk?”

 

“Well, not drunk, but it’s the Mayor’s wife. It’s not exactly news.” She made a face. “Don’t tell Cat I said that.”

 

A small smile. “Never.”

 

“Never say never, Clark,” Cat said eight hours later as she took his arm at the door of the restaurant. “She could be meeting up with Lex Luthor for all we know.” The woman smiled wickedly as they walked through the door, blonde hair bobbing around the sharpened shape of her face.

 

“I suppose.”

 

“Lex Luthor.” She crooned. “Wouldn’t _that_ be fun? This city hasn’t had any good gossip in weeks.” Her hip pressed against his side. “What do you think, Clark? Would you like to see a _scandal_ tonight, hm?”

 

Lois sent him a pitying look as she slid into the booth beside Jimmy who was dressed in a suit jacket slightly too small for him buttoned over a shirt that was slightly too large. The bow tie he’d affixed under his chin was a pert purple and flowered too large across his collar. Beside him Lois was full of cheeky charm, black dress hanging off one shoulder, and hair curling out of an artfully messy bun. Cat, in contrast, had her hair fixed in a bob of curls, breasts pushed to the rim of a lace rimmed dress, and a full mask of makeup.

 

She sat down and patted the spot in the both beside her. He slid in feeling like a big bumbling buffoon in a baggy suit beside her.

 

Halfway through the meal the Mayor’s wife hadn’t arrived, Jimmy was taking photos of his food, and Cat’s long nails were scraping against his leg. Lois, as promised was nursing a glass of wine but the astronomical price had warded her away from a bottle.

 

“Do you think she’s coming?” Clark questioned.

 

“Oh, maybe,” Cat pouted. “She might have decided to stay in. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

 

“I suppose but…” his voice trailed off as he heard him. The familiar deep voice pitched low just outside the walls of the restaurant. Bruce.

 

“But?” Cat prompted, unimpressed.

 

The door opened and a small entourage of people moved towards the bar. His eyes immediately fell to the man tucked secretively in the middle of the group. Bruce Wayne’s left arm was wrapped around the waist of a model, his right hand resting on the sequinned behind of a second, and eyes fixed with dark angry intensity on the square shoulders of the man walking before him.

 

Clark knew the moment he saw that look; he was hunting. That man, whoever he was, had something Batman wanted. Something Batman would get tonight.

 

“Is it her?” Cat asked, following his gaze.

 

“No,” Jimmy answered. “I don’t know who they are.”

 

“They look like they think they’re important,” Lois observed. “And that looks like Vicki Vale near the…”

 

“Lisa Carson, Colin Coldwell, Prescott Belmont, Brook Cortland,” Cat named them with a razor sharp eye. “That looks like that Judge that slept with Miss Gotham, that’s the new Miss Gotham, and… oh… _that’s_ Bruce Wayne.” Her hand fell off Clark’s thigh as she turned back to the table, excited. “They’re Gotham elite,” she hissed. “What do you think they’re doing here?”

 

“Well,” Lois began, “if Vicki Vale is with them then I think they’re making headlines for the Gotham Gazette, not the Planet.”

 

Jimmy looked nervous. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Me?” Cat pushed Clark out of the booth and climbed out after him to hang off his arms. “I’m going for a drink.”

 

“Wait,” Clark said. “I don’t think we should.”

 

Immediately Bruce’s gaze turned, searched, and found him. He felt like a deer in the headlights; trapped under the blistering scrutiny of the other man and the small look of surprise that slipped across his face. He noticed the bar and its occupant were drawing closer before he realised Cat was dragging him forward.

 

“Buy me a cocktail,” she instructed as she deposited him at the bar. “Something fancy looking.”

 

“I’ll try,” he mumbled and watched hopelessly as she dove into the close knit flock of socialites only to be brought to a stop by Vicki Vale. The two women exchanged tight lipped pleasantries and layered questions. Cat wanted to know why the party was in Metropolis. Vicki wanted to know how the Planet found out about their arrival.

 

“Friend of yours?”

 

He looked towards Bruce. He was too far along the bar for Clark to be able to respond. It was only thanks to his super hearing that he heard the question, spoken low enough to be inaudible to the two women either side of him.

 

Clark shrugged and nodded.

 

Bruce twitched and looked down at his untouched drink. “Congratulations.”

 

Clark frowned and when the bartender arrived he loudly ordered two drinks. “One for me and one for my _friend_ over there. Cat’s my friend.” The bartender gave him a funny look but took his money and started putting together the drinks.

 

A near whisper. “You don’t need to do that.”

 

“I feel like I do,” he said, distracting the bartender. “Buy another few for my friends sitting down, that is.”

 

“You can. That’ll be another eighteen dollars each.”

 

Bruce. “We’re not together. You don’t need to pretend for me.”

 

“For you?”

 

“I don’t drink on the job,” the bartender replied bluntly. “Do you want the extra drinks or not?”

 

“I thought after I walked away you…” Bruce began softly. “…are you on a date?”

 

“No.”

 

“No?” The man behind the bar echoed.

 

“You didn’t stay last night,” Bruce muttered.

 

Clark felt the colour leach out of his cheeks. “I didn’t think you wanted me too,” he answered, voice still loud enough to rise over the heads of the gathered crowd.

 

The bartender gave him a sideways look. “Perhaps it’s best you stick to water for the rest of the night.”

 

With a grunt Bruce untangled himself from the two women and strode through the restaurant towards the restroom. Clark quickly abandoned his spot at the bar and followed, almost running into the other man as he pushed through the swinging door.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t think you wanted…”

 

“Don’t apologise,” Bruce rasped, backing away from him. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

 

“Well,” he tugged at his sleeve. “I haven’t done it right either, have I?”

 

“Clark,” Bruce looked desolate. “What do you want from me?”

 

“I… just… just what we were doing. That’s fine.”

 

He sighed. “You’re lying to me.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Yes you are,” he growled. “You’re telling me what you think I want to hear and completely missing the damned point.” He fixed him with a hard look. “You asked me out on a date.”

 

“I… did,” he ceded reluctantly.

 

“You want us to have a relationship.”

 

Hopelessly. “I… I think…”

 

“I have kids, Clark. It took you years to decide to even be a minor part of Conner’s life.”

 

“I _am_ a part of Conner’s life. I know I wasn’t the best when he first arrived but it’s been years. I’m better than that now.”

 

Bruce didn’t look convinced. “Clark…” he sighed and moved towards the empty stalls. “You have to know how amazing you are. I could fall in love with you. It would be so damned easy. But I can’t. If I ever date again I need someone I can trust to be a parent, if it ever gets that far. Dick and Jason may be grown but Tim isn’t as independent as he pretends to be and Damian… needs me.” He looked back at him. “I don’t know if I can trust you and with you walking on eggshells around me I don’t know how I will ever know.”

 

It felt like the planet stopped, froze for a moment in its rotation, to take a breath.

 

Clark looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time; the reserved glimmer in Bruce’s usually piecing blue eyes took on a whole new meaning, the set of his lips was reluctant rather than restrictive, and the half turn of his head an indicative of an unspoken uncertainty.

 

“Would you rather I come over for dinner?” He asked. Soft. Scared. Scared for a reason he couldn’t wholly explain.

 

“Clark,” Bruce said carefully. “They don’t even know I like men.”

 

“I could just be a friend,” he said. “That’s still the truth, isn’t it?”

 

Unhappily. “You’ve been more important than that for years.”

 

His heart skipped. “But,” Clark rasped. “For them? At first?” He took a careful step forward. “Just so we can all get to know each other.”

 

“Clark I…” he raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know about this.”

 

“Trust me Bruce. If you love them, then so will I.”

 

He sent him a look, coloured with a hint of uncharacteristic desperation. “Trust you?”

 

“Trust me,” he echoed and then they were kissing.

 

Clark wasn’t sure how they had closed the distance between them, wasn’t sure who had brought their lips together, and in that moment he couldn’t care. They were kissing and it was open, hungry, and full of teeth, tongue, and a hand fisting in his freshly ironed suit.

 

He had thought, in the fleeting moment before their lips touched, it would be tender, slow, and explorative. But, like everything Bruce Wayne did, it was rough, passionate, and filled with a fiery fierceness as intrinsic to him as The Batman. A raw sexual _share_ that tasted of gin, expensive aftershave, and nervous sweat. He let Bruce shove his glasses aside as he pulled his body against him, and plunged deeper into the kiss; crassly tasting the inside of the other man’s mouth.

 

Bruce rumbled his appreciation deep in the back of his throat, tangled his hand in Clark’s tie, and backed into one of the stalls. Clark broke apart their lips with a strangled gasp as the door was closed, and latched behind him.

 

“Bruce? Jesus. We’re in public.”

 

“Afraid someone will recognise you, Superman?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed.

 

Bruce sat back on the closed toilet seat, hooked his fingers into Clark’s belt, and pulled him forward. He began to work open his fly, knuckles grazing against the rapidly growing bulge between his legs.

 

“Why not?” Bruce rumbled. “No one can hear us. You would know if they could. No one’s ever going to know that _Superman_ is getting sucked off by _Batman_ in the men’s bathroom.”

 

“God.”

 

Bruce pulled down the elastic rim of his underpants, released his half hard cock, and took the entire length into his mouth with a single greedy gulp. Clark felt the head hit the back of his throat, his muscles move as he swallowed around him, and Bruce’s teeth tightening experimentally around his base.

 

“D-don’t do that,” Clark said quickly and reached out to thread his fingers through Bruce’s hair, seize a handful, and roll his head back. “Don’t bite. It’ll hurt you.”

 

Bruce slid his tongue among the underside of his shaft before letting it fall out the corner of his mouth. “Maybe a little pain is good.”

 

“Not if I knock your teeth out.”

 

“Maybe not.” He twisted against Clark’s fist. “But you can pull my hair all you like.”

 

He swallowed and watched as Bruce used his tongue to flick the head of his cock back into his mouth. Bruce wrapped a fist around his base and used his other hand to squeezed Clark’s hip – hard enough to hurt a human – as he began to suck.

 

Clark had known him for years; he knew him before the Justice League, before the first Robin, and before they started having sex. But even after years of knowing him he didn’t understand, couldn’t grasp, all the subtleties that went into the complex weave of character that made up Bruce Wayne. There was a part of him that was like a storm – base, primary, powerful – and another that was analytical and burning with bright brilliant intelligence. He knew he had a nurturing side as well. He didn’t need to meet the new Robins to know that; he had seen it in the way he gruffly but painstakingly trained new members of the Justice League. How _he made_ sure they were ready before putting them in the firing line.

 

Yet it was that persistence, that need to minimise risk, that had made him so sure Bruce wouldn’t want to step forward into a full relationship so soon let alone do something so risky as to fuck in a public bathroom. Just another part of him he had misread and misunderstood.

 

Misunderstood so grossly he had almost pushed Bruce away right when he turned towards him.

 

And that thought, the knowledge that he had almost missed him, that he could have gone his whole life without having this chance at something more, left him frantic and fucking into his mouth as Bruce brought him to climax with every lick, slide, and swallow. With every sinfully skilled movement of his mouth.

 

The bathroom door opened.

 

Clark froze, hidden within the closed stall, as he listened to the footsteps approach the urinal.

 

Bruce looked up at him; cheek stretched around his length, and pressed his tongue hard against the underside of Clark’s cock; pushing it against the roof of his mouth and tightening around him with warm, wet, lips. When that clearly didn’t get the reaction he wanted he let go of his hip to reach between his legs and seize Clark’s testacies in a firm fist; working them roughly against the palm of his hand.

 

He… _God…_

 

Clark desperately swallowed his groan as the unseen stranger finally finished and flushed. Whoever it was took a criminal amount of time to wash his hands, admire himself in the mirror, and venture back out into the restaurant.

 

The second the door closed Clark let out a frantic moan and Bruce resumed; bobbing on his cock even as he kneaded and tugged at his balls. It didn’t take long.

 

He came; painted the inside of Bruce throat with an obscene amount of semen, and watched the other man’s Adams apple work as he swallowed.

 

When it was over Bruce released his cock with a wet smack and licked his lips. “That was fast.” A seductive murmur. “Do you like this, Kent?” Hot breath against his wet member. “Being sucked off in a public bathroom?”

 

“Jesus Bruce you have no idea…”

 

Low. “That’s not an answer.”

 

“Yes,” he uncurled his fist from Bruce’s hair. “Fuck, you’re perverting me.”

 

A hard look. “You haven’t done anything yet, Kent.”

 

“No,” he agreed. “I haven’t.”

 

He pulled Bruce up by the front of his shirt, noting with pleasure how he tented the front of his pants, and pushed him up against the flimsy wall of the bathroom stall. It rattled alarmingly in its fittings but held. His left hand held down Bruce’s wrist and his right began to work open the other man’s belt. Bruce’s eyes shone with an intoxicating wildness, teeth flashed, and body arched off the hard surface. His hand stroked rough and ready down the side of Clark’s face and over his lips. Clark touched his lips to that hand, sucked on those calloused fingers, and then leant forward and kissed him in earnest.

 

This kiss was deeper, darker, desperate… he could taste himself on Bruce’s lips.

 

They ground together, thigh between thighs, until he was once again aching hard and Bruce was bucking into his hip with a series of hitched and haggard sounds. Then, not even allowing himself to think what he was doing, he worked down the other man’s pants and turned him around.

 

Bruce hissed through his teeth, reached up and grabbed hold of the top of the cubicle wall, and looked over his shoulder; his eyes dark and daring. “Come on.”

 

“I…” he stopped, catching hold of himself. “I don’t have any…”

 

Bruce _growled_.

 

“I’m sorry; I don’t want to hurt you.” He began to ease back.

 

“You can shoot lasers from your eyes and yet you can’t find some fucking lube when you need it?” the other man snarled.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Just use spit. Come on.”

 

Again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“I told you, pain is fine.”

 

“Bruce.”

 

“Come _on_. I can take it.”

 

“But…”

 

Bruce reached around, grabbed a hold of his hip, and pulled him forward. The action reminded him Bruce wanted this. Bruce _wanted_ this. That fact alone was enough to make his balls hurt and mouth go dry with need.

 

“Wait,” he rasped. “Just… wait.”

 

He leant against Bruce, holding him against the wall in what could have been called a misuse of power, and pushed a finger into him. Bruce twitched but rolled his hips back, welcoming the invasion with a low groan. After a while he spat onto his palm and added a second, slowly massaging him open even as he rocked back onto his fingers.

 

“ _More_ , Kent.”

 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Bruce.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

Weakly. “You don’t know that.”

 

“I do,” he countered quickly. “I trust you. I have to trust you. If all of this is going to…” he closed his eyes. “I have to trust you.”

 

He entered him, and Bruce wasn’t nearly prepared enough for this, but that savage pained satisfaction on the other man’s face held his reservations at bay. Clark kept pushing, slowly, surely, until he was balls deep in the other man.

 

“Fuck,” Bruce groaned.

 

“Okay?”

 

A sharp nod.

 

“Do you want a minute?”

 

A pause and then another nod.

 

Clark kept his hips as still as possible as he leant forward, nosed aside Bruce’s shirt collar, and peppered his skin with kisses. God, but he was breathtaking. Even the taste of his sweat was beautiful.

 

After a while Bruce groaned, body relaxing against him, and fist tightening around the top of the cubicle wall. “Now.”

 

He started slow and shallow. When Bruce took it smoothly he lengthened the stroke. Soon, he was drawing half out and snapping his hips forward; greedily pushing through the other man’s tight entrance and into the warm cavern of the body beyond.

 

Bruce twitched violently and turned his face away; a sure sign that he was hurting him.

 

“Bruce?”

 

Broken. “I can take it. You can let go.”

 

“I can’t,” he whispered. He couldn’t let himself go too much, couldn’t risk seriously hurting him. He was already pushing harder than he should, already holding him tighter, already fucking him deeper.

 

The other man groaned, deep and desperate, and rolled his hips back against him with a smack of skin on skin. Clark reached around and began to tug on Bruce’s cock. He caressed the long curve of the other man’s shaft, felt Bruce shudder as he slid his thumb over a wet head, and descended down his length to feel squeeze his base.

 

It wasn’t long before they were grunting, snarling, and crying out together. The wall rattled against the bolts holding it to the floor, shoes shrieked as they scuffed against the tiled ground, and the bathroom door opened and then slammed shut a moment later. Clark was too far gone to care.

 

He came. He rocked into Bruce hard enough to slam him against the wall as he ejaculated inside him.

 

“Fuck,” Bruce moaned. “Fuck, I need…”

 

Clark blinked away the haze of his orgasm and stroked the other man the three and a half more times it took him to come. Bruce sprayed through his fingers and against the wall with a strangled groan.

 

“Wow.”

 

“Wow?” Clark echoed breathlessly. Then, with a small smile. “Did I ‘wow’ you, Wayne?”

 

“You tend to, ah,” he pulled himself off him, “do that to me.”

 

“Good.” Clark withdrew the rest of his length and turned him around. “God, you look…” his hair was deliciously dishevelled, clothes rumbled, and cheeks touched with two high points of colour. There was a fresh hickey on his neck Clark didn’t even remember putting there.

 

Bruce lifted an eyebrow and reached forward to tuck Clark back into his pants. “You look like that hardly did anything to you.”

 

Clark smiled guiltily and set to putting Bruce to rights. Even with his pants pulled up, shirt straightened, and hair raked back into place there was no way someone was going to look at him - wet lips, eyes bright, smelling of sex - and not know what he had just been doing.

 

“I promise you, dinner with Damian won’t be so fun,” Bruce said.

 

“Damian I can handle,” he replied, wiping a spot of semen off Bruce’s face. “It’s Tim I’m worried about.”

 

“Tim?” Bruce lifted an eyebrow

 

“Yeah, well, he and Conner had some kind of fight and I’m worried that might start something.”

 

Bruce frowned. “I didn’t know they knew each other.”

 

A long pause. “Yeah,” Clark replied awkwardly. “They, eh, know each other pretty well from what I hear.” If anyone was going to be able to keep secrets from the World’s Greatest Detective it was going to be Timothy Drake. But, from the look in Bruce’s eye, it wasn’t going to stay a secret much longer.

 

“Wednesday?” He asked, quickly changing the subject.

 

“Eight o’clock,” Bruce confirmed. “I’ll leave the door open for you.”

 

He snorted. “Which one?”

 

“The front.”

 

“The big one?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Wow. I’ve never been in through the front door before. Not that there is anything wrong with the back.”

 

Bruce gave him a funny look, “see you later, Clark,” and then he leant forward and kissed him. A momentary touch of lip on lip that was utterly alienated form their previous kisses and as breathtaking as it was brief. And this… _this_ was what had been missing up until now. This was what he wanted. This was what he would fight for; the chance to kiss Bruce, and be kissed by Bruce like this, for the rest of his life.

 

Bruce backed away and without another word, unlocked the cubicle, and stepped out. Clark waited until he heard him disappear into the restaurant before he followed. He retrieved his glasses from where they had fallen on the floor as he passed; thank God for the sturdy rims.

 

The world beyond seemed busier, brighter, scarier… and suddenly strangely all the better for it. He watched Bruce slip back among his party with his usual vacant playboy grin. The women took one looks at him and immediately started eyeing each other with jealous suspicion. Cat was among them.

 

He returned to the booth where Jimmy was trying to take some under the table pictures of the gathered Gotham socialites and Lois was watching him, half her lip upturned in a knowing smile.

 

“Have fun?”

 

He felt his face redden. “Y-yeah.”

 

Her smile sharpened. “I told you. We haven’t even gotten to the pancakes yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was me working back into my SuperBat head space and stretching my writing muscles in preparation of picking up my bigger story again. It's a bit rough around the edges but I hope you like it and if you have any comment, critiques, or kudos to give that would be awesome! Thanks for reading. :)


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